


A Problem of Memory

by la_muerta



Series: Like Smoke Through Your Fingers [3]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: 1950s, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Noir, Case Fic, Detective Alec Lightwood, Detective Noir, F/M, M/M, POV First Person, Private Investigators, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-12-22 22:05:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11975970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_muerta/pseuds/la_muerta
Summary: Everybody says that memories are precious, that at the end of everything, it is only the memories that will stay with us forever. What happens when you can't trust your own memory?A tragedy from private investigator Alec Lightwood's childhood comes back to haunt him, and it's a race against time to solve the mystery before it tears what is left of his family apart.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

It was a hot afternoon, the kind that drove dogs under houses and drove men to murder.

I was in my office, catching up on my foot-dangling - business had been slower than usual lately. Or perhaps it was partially my fault - it was hard to go back to scouring the streets for notices for lost pets after Magnus Bane had swept into my life like a hurricane, bringing with him the adrenaline rush of real intrigue with high stakes. It had been harder still to sit there listening to people who had found love but had thrown it away for a moment of pleasure, or people who had fallen in love with the wrong person, someone who could never love them back.  

The air outside the windows was stale, with not even a breath of wind. I could see the black sooty smoke from the oil burners of the hotel next door drifting aimlessly into the hard blue sky. I could go through the advertisements in my mail tray one more time to see if there was anything worth exploring. I could go out to lunch, except I wasn't hungry. I could pick up the phone and call Magnus. 

That was the problem with having nothing to do - the devil makes work for idle hands, and all that. But when your heart says one thing and your whole life says another, your heart always loses.

The buzzer in my reception room went off. I was glad for the distraction, but before I could move towards the connecting door, it opened with a bang, and in strolled the last person I'd expected to see in my office. 

"Izzy," I said in surprise.

I hadn't seen my sister Isabelle in at least a year - not since she had married a man named Meliorn Whitewillow, who I didn't approve of and had not bothered hiding my distaste for. They had been childhood sweethearts, but I saw little in common between them other than a shared tragedy in our past when a fire in the night had claimed the lives of our siblings - our little brother Max and our adopted brother Jace, and for Meliorn, his little sister Kaelie. Meliorn was some sort of artist, and he used his so-called "artistic temperament" to excuse all manner of misconduct, the most unforgivable of which was his inability to remain faithful to Isabelle. I had lost count of the number of times I had found Isabelle in tears because of Meliorn's cheating ways, and could not understand why she would want to marry him. I had said as much to her, and that had been that - I hadn't even been invited to the wedding.

And now, here she was, thinner and wanner than I had remembered, dressed in a stylish tweed suit that had seen better days, sitting in one of my wobbly office chairs with all the dignity of a queen on her throne. She opened her bag, picked a cigarette out of a cheap metal case, lit it with a pocket lighter, then dropped the case and lighter back into the bag.

"When did you start smoking?" I frowned.

Izzy took a puff on her cigarette and glowered at me. "Stop trying to run my life, Alec." 

There was a time when Izzy and I had known everything there was to know about each other - every secret desire, every shameful impulse, every cherished dream. We had whispered it to each other in the darkness of our bedroom as children, then whispered it to each other in the darkness of the apartment we shared in the evenings after dinner and before bed.

"Why are you here?"

"Trying to get rid of me already, big brother?" Izzy said with a sardonic smile. 

"I'm not the one who cut me out of your life," I said through gritted teeth. 

"As if you would give me the time of the day if I weren't sitting here with a case for you," she scoffed. 

"A case? What happened? Did Whitewillow do something to you?" I resisted the urge to move closer to Izzy. 

Izzy frowned and blew the smoke from her cigarette in my direction. "You don't have to get so excited about it. I know you can't wait to rub it in my face that you were right about Meliorn," she snapped. 

"I wasn't going to-" I sighed. "He's cheating on you again."

Izzy didn't answer right away, puffing on her cigarette while she gathered her thoughts. "It's more than... the usual. He's been acting strange for weeks - jumpy, cagey, and the last time I pushed him for an answer, he lost his temper and-" She cut herself off abruptly, taking refuge in the cigarette. 

"Did he hit you?" I was aware that my voice was rising. "Izzy!" 

She looked away from me and out of the window, which was answer enough. I was going to gut the lily-livered son of a bitch. 

"What do you need me to do?" I asked her. Something in my tone of voice had finally gotten through to her - when she looked back at me, I saw a shadow of the sister who had been the dearest thing to my heart since we were children. 

"I found an invitation to a dinner party and art exhibition, at the house of a Mr Valentine Morgenstern. You know Meliorn is an artist, but he doesn't really... go to these sort of things." 

I tried not to roll my eyes. Meliorn Whitewillow was an artist mostly in name - over the years, I had hardly seen him produce any art, although he did spend a lot of time meddling with plants, most of which I suspected was that variation of Indian hemp weed that was said to produce intoxicating effects when smoked. 

"I don't know who Morgenstern is, but he is the key to this," Izzy said. "This is not the first time I have seen the name amongst Meliorn's things."

"You want me to invite myself to a private dinner party?" 

"Isn't that your speciality? Sticking your nose into other people's business?" Izzy said sarcastically. 

And wasn't it a stroke of luck that I did happen to know someone in the business of art and fine things?

 

 

The familiar cream-coloured Cadillac was waiting outside my apartment building the next evening. I adjusted my coat, a nervous habit, and got in the back seat of the car.

"Alexander," Magnus' voice was warm, pleased. 

It had been three weeks since I had last seen him. I allowed myself the guilty pleasure of drinking in the sight of him - perfectly coiffed hair, bright eyes dusted with smoky make-up, that coy smile that was always going to be my undoing.

"Thank you for letting me come along." 

"It was no trouble," Magnus said. "Besides, I wanted to see you again." 

My heart stuttered in my chest, but I found myself tongue-tied. Magnus took pity on me after a while and switched to a more neutral topic. 

"So, you said this was for a case. Is it something you can speak about?"

"No."

Magnus laughed. "Fair enough. I suppose that word 'private' in 'private detective' has some meaning."

"Do you know much about Valentine Morgenstern?"

"Ah, I see how this is - I'm just another source of information," Magnus lamented.

"No," I said hurriedly. "Magnus, I didn't mean that. I -" 

"I was just teasing you, darling," Magnus grinned mischievously. "Well, the artist whose works are being exhibited are those of Mr Morgenstern's son - Jonathan Morgenstern. I hear he is a rather talented young man, though his works are not to my taste. The company of the elder Mr Morgenstern is generally not to my taste either. To be honest, I would have given this whole thing a miss if you hadn't called."

"What's wrong with Valentine Morgenstern?"

Magnus shrugged one shoulder elegantly. "His behaviour is not exactly that of a sane man - perhaps you should form your own opinions of him. But enough about that. How have you been doing, Alexander? I imagine your life must be an exciting one."

"Not really. The usual - lost pets and cheating spouses," I said.

Magnus frowned at that. "You should be getting cases that match your intellect and ability."  

"Which is exactly why I get notices for missing pets," I said, trying not to smile at his distress on my behalf.

"That is a pity and a great waste of your talent," Magnus murmured. 

"I don't pretend to have any talents, Magnus. I'm just a simple man, trying to get by enough to pay the bills and not get thrown out onto the street by my landlord."

Magnus shook his head. "Always so humble, Alexander. Well, perhaps your new case will provide you with a nice challenge," he smiled.

Yes, it would be a huge challenge indeed not to punch Meliorn Whitewillow when I saw him tonight, I thought.

The Morgensterns lived in the kind of neighbourhood which had no need for sidewalks because presumably nobody did something as mundane as walking, not even the mailman. The house itself, unfortunately, was an ostentatious, tasteless thing, which had an obvious air of the nouveau riche - no expense had been spared on the Roman-inspired pillars, marble flooring or heavy drop-crystal chandeliers, but it was a pity that money couldn't buy an eye for beauty. This struck me as odd for the house of a supposedly talented artist.

The butler brought us into a large square hall which was already half-filled with people who, Magnus told me in a low voice, were influential artists, buyers and collectors in New York's art circle. Our hosts were not present yet, fashionably late to their own dinner party. I looked around the room as Magnus made polite small talk with people he knew, wondering how a ne'er-do-well like Meliorn fitted with such illustrious company. 

As far as I could tell, the house was separated into three distinct sections: the main hall and dining hall, used for entertaining; a wing to the right of the main hall, which probably led to the living quarters of the household; and a smaller building, separated from the main building by a little courtyard, which was just visible through the heavy drapes on the french windows. I thought the isolation and quiet it offered might make it suitable for an artist's studio.

The interior of the house bore the same schizophrenic style as its exterior. The expensive marble floor was covered with a garish red and yellow carpet. Modern chrome-fitted low tables were placed around the hall together with heavy carved antique chairs, and an enormous stained-glass window in the back of the room would surely have turned the room into a riot of jewelled tones in the afternoon light. I wondered if it was the elder Morgenstern or his son who had chosen the jarring decor. 

There were paintings hung on every wall, huge framed canvases that were easily half my height and twice my width. I did not pretend to have an eye for art - all I noticed was the macabre tone of the paintings, which almost always featured death, demons and ghouls. I could see why these nightmarish pieces had not appealed to Magnus.

"Has anything caught your eye?" Magnus asked as I paused in front of a particularly vivid rendition of a strange creature with a humanoid body and face, except for the yawning, many-toothed appendage that it had in place of a mouth.

"I was just thinking how much simpler life would be if monsters really looked like this."

"I see the appreciation of art has put you in a philosophical mood," Magnus teased.

The next painting featured some sort of smoke demon, a formless mass with red-orange eyes of flame, holding a glowing sphere in its talons.

"Alexander," Magnus' voice was suddenly sharp. "You look like you've seen a ghost! Are you alright?"

Maybe he was right, and I was seeing a ghost. In the sphere, there was an image of a boy of about twelve, with hazel eyes and messy black hair, smiling. The boy trapped in the sphere was me. 

Overhead, thunder rumbled, signalling the impending storm. I just didn't know then that it would be of the personal variety. 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

I moved to the next painting, then the next, and the one after that. Some of them meant nothing to me, but here and there I started to notice things that were too much of a coincidence: a painting of a charred, hand-carved wooden toy soldier, the spitting image of my little brother Max's favourite toy; a tombstone in the background of one painting that had my mother's name "Maryse" on it; a cherub bearing Isabelle's girlish face, being dragged down to Hell by a horde of vampires. 

"Alexander, what's wrong?"

"I need to speak to Jonathan Morgenstern." 

He must have sensed the tension and urgency in my voice, how close I felt to all my control snapping completely - he placed one hand at my elbow and guided me quickly to a corner of the room. "Deep breaths first, Alexander. This case of yours - what does it have to do with the Morgensterns?"

"I don't know."

"Then why do you look like you are on the verge of a panic attack?"

"The paintings - Magnus, there are images in there that only someone who had known my family when we were children would know. I lost two of my brothers in a house fire when I was a child. We never recovered the body of the older one. The cellar caved in, you see, and we thought... We called him Jace, but his real name was Jonathan Christopher."

Magnus looked startled. "You think Jonathan Morgenstern is Jace?" 

"I don't know what to think anymore," I said, running a hand through my hair.

Magnus scanned the room quickly, decisively. "Here they come. I'll give you a moment to gather yourself, and I will make the introductions."

I closed my eyes, resisting the urge to turn around to catch a glimpse of Jonathan Morgenstern - I was still on a case, after all, and I was not in the right frame of mind not to blow my cover. Once I had composed myself, Magnus guided me to where two men were chatting with a group of art collectors. The elder one was grey-haired, with dark, cruel eyes. The younger Morgenstern was blond, slightly taller than his father, and had his back turned to me.

"Mr Morgenstern," Magnus addressed the elder one with a polite smile. "Thank you for your kind invitation this evening."

"Mr Bane!" he replied, his face lighting up in a maniacal grin. "It's an honour. May I introduce you to my son - the very talented Jonathan Morgenstern."

"Father, please," the younger man said, embarrassed. 

The first thing I noticed about him was his eyes - one was blue, and the other was half-blue and half-brown. Even if his name and the paintings had been a coincidence, there was no way that there were two people in the world with eyes like that. There was no doubt that Jonathan Morgenstern was Jace. 

I bit my tongue to stop myself from blurting out his childhood nickname, but his attention was drawn to me immediately. I saw his eyes widen in surprise, then his brows furrowed. 

"Have we met? I'm sorry if we have, but I'm afraid I don't remember your name," he said. 

"You must excuse him - he was in an accident and sustained a serious head injury as a child, you see, and his memory is not as it should be," the elder Morgenstern interrupted. 

"How tragic," Magnus murmured sympathetically.  

"And you are...?" the elder Morgenstern inquired, proffering a hand in my direction. 

"Alec Trueblood," I said, electing to use my mother's maiden name. Again, I thought I saw a flicker of recognition in Jonathan's eyes. 

"Alec is my associate," Magnus said taking my lie in his stride easily. He turned to Jonathan. "Tell me, Mr Morgenstern, where do you find the inspiration for your paintings?" 

"Call me Jonathan, please," he said. "Well, the head injury gave me more than a poor memory. I get nightmares, blackouts where I don’t remember what I have been doing. The doctors suggested that I could try using art as a way of coming to terms with my illness." 

"Jonathan is just being modest," the elder Morgenstern said fondly. "You see, we Morgensterns are descendants of the angels, and Jonathan has a sacred duty to battle the forces of darkness. There is power in his paintings, you see, to trap evil and bring Paradise on earth." 

Jonathan looked deeply uncomfortable, and Magnus quirked an eyebrow at me.

Valentine Morgenstern did not seem to notice. "You see, our name means 'morning star', which is often taken to mean Lucifer, but in the Book of Revelations, the term refers to the second coming of the Messiah-"  

"Father - um, perhaps we should go and speak to the kitchen staff, so that dinner can be served," Jonathan interjected hurriedly. 

"Yes, perhaps that would be for the best," Magnus murmured. 

"I take it that you are not a believer, Mr Bane," the elder Morgenstern said, his voice suddenly sharp. 

"I'm afraid I don't believe in heaven or hell, Mr Morgenstern, except the ones that we make for ourselves."

"Please, Father," Jonathan said, pulling the elder Morgenstern aside. After an urgent whispered conversation, Valentine Morgenstern shot one last disgruntled look at Magnus, and left, presumably to speak to the kitchen staff. 

"I apologise for my father's behaviour. My poor health has taken a toll on him," Jonathan said.

Magnus smiled politely. "No offence taken, I assure you." 

"How long ago was this accident?" I asked. 

"Eleven years ago." 

Eleven years ago. The fire had been eleven years ago.  

"If you will excuse me, I must see to the other guests," Jonathan said with a tight smile, and left. 

"Is Jonathan truly your brother, then?" Magnus asked me in an undertone. I nodded, and his face grew troubled. 

 

 

The storm outside was in full swing now, and the hall was full of guests, at least forty people - a big crowd for a dinner party. I stayed by Magnus' side as he continued his rounds, making small talk with the people in his line of business. I saw Valentine Morgenstern briefly, but I did not see Jonathan Morgenstern again, and I did not see Meliorn Whitewillow either, although that was not unusual given the size of the crowd. For all I knew, Whitewillow had decided not to turn up after all. I started wondering if Whitewillow had known or suspected that Jonathan Morgenstern was Jace, and if he had - for once - been acting for the benefit of my sister by trying to reunite her with our long-lost brother.

As the time wore on, it became apparent that this was a very strange dinner party, in the sense that no dinner was being served. It was so late, the storm had already blown over. The guests started to become restless.

"I'm sorry for the delay," Jonathan Morgenstern called out over the murmuring of the crowd. "I shall check on my father. Dinner will be served as soon as possible." I watched him cross the small courtyard through the french windows.

The minutes ticked by; Jonathan seemed to have gone and done a disappearing act like his father.

"Is this some sort of joke?" one of the guests asked angrily.

"Miss," another one barked, grabbing hold of a redheaded girl who had been serving drinks. "Could you do us all a favour and find out what the blazes is going on?"

She nodded nervously and went outside. I moved towards the french windows to watch her - the courtyard was muddy after the storm, and there was a clear set of footprints leading towards the door of the smaller building - men's prints, which meant that Jonathan was still inside the building. The redhead struggled across the squelching mulch, her sensible heels sinking into the mud even though she probably weighed less than a hundred pounds soaking wet. She had barely gone in for a minute when there was a shrill scream. 

I was outside and halfway across the courtyard before I could even think about it, with Magnus hot on my heels. I threw the door open - I had been right to assume that this was Jonathan's studio. It seemed that the small building housed just this one large room - four walls, with a row of locked, leaded windows in the wall facing the door. The room was almost completely dark, the only source of light being the rippled light coming through the leaded windows, which was almost as bad as no light on this stormy moonless night; and now the door that opened to the courtyard, letting in a wedge of muted ambient light from the main hall. Even in the dim light, I could make out easels and canvases, and some sort of work table deeper into the room.

The redheaded girl was crouching over the prone form of a man lying a few feet into the room, trying to shake him awake.

"Jonathan! My god-"

I tried the switches, but the lights in the room wouldn't turn on. By now, the scream had drawn the entire dinner party out of the main hall, and they were all milling in the courtyard, clamouring for an explanation. 

"Call the ambulance!" I heard Magnus shout in an authoritative voice. 

"Here, let me," I nudged the girl aside and checked his pulse - he was alive, just unconscious. His eyelids were already fluttering open.

"Jace! Are you alright?" I grunted, forgetting myself for a moment.

He blinked up at me in confusion. "What did you just call me?" he whispered.

"I-"

"You called me 'Jace'. I'm not dreaming now, am I?" 

"No," I frowned, distracted when he moved his hand under himself in an attempt to sit up, and I saw that it left smears of red on the raw concrete floor. 

"You... you're Alec. You're my brother... but you're not real. You don't exist."

"Jonathan, please don't talk like that, you're scaring me," the redhead said, obviously in tears. "You must have had one of your blackouts..."

My eyes followed the trail of blood on the floor to a bloodied knife lying just within reach of Jonathan's hands, then further into the room.

"I need a light," I barked out. I felt a hand on my shoulder - it was Magnus, who offered me a heavy engraved lighter. 

The flickering light from the lighter unveiled a scene that might have been from one of Jonathan's own paintings - blood everywhere, and in the middle of it, Valentine Morgenstern lying in a growing pool of his own blood, his blank eyes gazing up at the ceiling and his face frozen in a mask of rage and pain, his chest a mess of stab wounds. The little redhead let out another blood-curdling shriek, and the crowd outside started pushing its way in. 

"Oh god," Jonathan whispered. "What have I done?"

"Murder! Call the cops!" someone else shouted, and the world descended into chaos.

 

 

I soon decided that even the banshee wail of the police siren was preferable to the fussing and crying of the redheaded girl when the police came for Jonathan Morgenstern.

"Well, well, look who's turned up like a bad penny again?" Pangborn drawled. 

I didn't bother answering him. My eyes were on Jonathan - no, _Jace_ \- who was being shoved into the back of a police car. Someone had put a coat around his shoulders, but he was still shivering. 

"You keep your nose out of this one, you hear me?" Pangborn snapped. "I haven't forgotten the trick you pulled with the Karnstein case."

I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his existence.

I felt Magnus walk up to stand beside me when Pangborn had finally given up and left, a much more welcome presence. 

"I'm going to call Ragnor. We'll get your brother back, Alexander," Magnus promised me. 

"I don't think even Ragnor can work miracles, Magnus," I said quietly. 

I had been there - I had seen the blood on his hands. I had seen only one set of footprints leading to the door of the studio, and none leading away. Even if Valentine had been murdered before Jace had entered the studio, there had been nobody to plant the bloodied knife in Jace's hand; not even the redheaded girl would have had the time. Jace himself had admitted to having frequent blackouts, during which he had no idea what he had been doing.

"Lightwood!"

I turned in surprise to find Meliorn Whitewillow walking towards me. 

"I thought I saw you. You were the one who discovered Jace with the body, weren't you?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You knew about Jace."

"I had heard rumours..." Meliorn sighed. "His eyes, you know. I had to try to find out, for Izzy's sake. I don't know what to tell Izzy now - this is going to break her heart."

We watched the police cars leaving, like vultures departing after the corpse had been stripped clean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, I know the tags are misleading. For obvious reasons! Although, to be fair, depending on which book or episode you are on, Jace _is_ sometimes Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern :P


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

I got into my battered grey sedan the next day with a renewed sense of purpose. I had had a sleepless night filled with old nightmares of the fire, in which I always ended up losing my grip on Izzy's hand in the smoke, and found myself standing shivering on sidewalk alone, listening helplessly to the agonised screams of all my siblings while our house went up in flames. Fortunately, the hour or so of rest before dawn had been enough for my weary brain to realise the one odd thing about the events that had occurred the previous night: the lights. 

Why hadn't the lights in the room been working? The storm had not been heavy enough to take out the power - at least the main hall certainly hadn't been affected. A dead man couldn't have taken out the lights and I doubted Jace would have had the presence of mind to do so if he had been having one of his blackouts. I had to try and take a closer look at Jace's studio, to see if I had missed anything in the chaos. 

Besides, there was still the question of how Jace had come to become Jonathan Morgenstern. 

I was banging on the ornate knocker of the Morgenstern house, which was gold-plated and shaped like the head of a snarling dragon, before I realised that it might not be a good idea to call on the household on the serious business of murder at the crack of dawn. 

After a while, the front door opened a fraction, and I was faced with the unwelcome sight of the redhead from last night.  

"You're that guy from last night, the first one who came to help when I found Jonathan," she said, pulling the door open all the way. She glanced behind her anxiously. "Quick, come in - before someone else sees you."

"Much obliged, Miss...?"

"Just call me Clary," she said, and proceeded to shove me behind a marble statue by the door.

"Who was that?" a male voice asked, grumpy and bleary with lack of sleep. The butler, I guessed.

"Um, nobody!" she said brightly. I wasn't the drinking sort, but I suddenly wished I was. It was too early in the morning for this. 

The butler muttered something under his breath, but eventually went away. The redhead sagged against the door frame in relief. I looked her over. She was twenty or so, small and delicately put together, but she looked durable. She was pale, but with a sort of natural paleness that suggested it had nothing to do with the events of last night. Her eyes, though, were puffy and swollen from crying.

"Do you have a message for me, from Jonathan?"

"No."

She considered me carefully. "Why are you here?"

"You didn't have to hide me behind that statue, you know. I'm here on business."

"You're not a copper, are you?"

"I'd hardly be letting you shove me behind statues if I were. I'm a private detective."

Her eyes widened. "Are you here to help clear Jonathan's name?" 

"I hope to try, yes."

"But who hired you?" she asked in bewilderment. "Jonathan has no other family."

That got me, alright. I could hardly say I had hired myself, and I didn't want anybody to get wind of Jace's real identity yet, or my connection to him, in case it came with a whole lot of trouble. 

"I can't tell you. I have a client to protect," I answered stiffly.

That didn't seem to sit well with her, but I didn't have time to cater to her sensibilities.  

"I need to see Jonathan’s studio." 

She hesitated, then nodded and led the way. 

 

The little courtyard was a mess of muddy footprints in the morning light. That couldn't be helped, given the events of the night. It was hemmed in on both sides by high walls - kitchens to the left, and bedrooms to the right. There was one bedroom window on the second floor, but there were no footholds, not even a convenient trellis or drain pipe. Assuming one wasn't an ape or circus acrobat and had a healthy fear of breaking their own neck, getting to the studio by climbing the roof was out of the question.  

The studio itself was in the kind of mess that only the law had the guts to leave behind in another person's home - string and chalk and dusting powders, and the ashes of nickel cigarettes. The rest of the room was neat enough, given the number of things that were in it - blank canvases stretched over frames and ready for painting, a few easels containing completed or half-completed works, one table littered with pencils, brushes and tubes of paint. I tried the lights again - they were still out.  

"Were the lights working before last night?" I asked the redhead, who was hovering by the door. 

"Yes. Jonathan preferred to work at night. He had problems sleeping, you see." 

"And you would know because...?"

She flushed. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

"Jonathan Morgenstern is currently in a cell being charged for murder, Miss. I'd say everything at this point is my business. Unless you have a reason for wanting him in that cell." 

"How dare you!"  

" _Do_ you have a reason for wanting him in a cell? Seems to me you're awfully concerned about him, considering he's just your boss, or at least the son of your boss." 

The flush stayed high on her cheeks, but she met my eyes squarely. "Jonathan and I are seeing each other."

Well, wasn't that just capital. 

"I take it Mr Morgenstern the senior didn't approve."

"He didn't know. But yes, I doubt he would have been pleased."

That was one more count against Jace - he had a motive for murder now, if anybody found out about his relationship with the redhead. 

"Who knows about your relationship with Jonathan?" 

"I don't know," she said, and she blushed harder. Well, if she was as bad a liar as she had demonstrated during our short acquaintance, I would just have to assume that everyone in the household knew, including the late Valentine Morgenstern. 

"Have you ever been around Jonathan when he has had one of his blackouts?"

"Yes. Mostly he just curls up on himself and talks to himself. Sometimes he gets a bit more... agitated. But even then it's mostly throwing stuff around and trying to get away from an imaginary somebody. I don't believe he could have killed anybody during his blackouts."

"What does he talk about?"

"Names, mostly. They are always the same few - Alec, Izzy, Max." 

I ignored the twinge of pain that gave me. I had work to do. 

The ceiling in the room wasn't too high, and the lights in easy reach if one climbed on the work table in the middle of the room. In fact, there was one spot on the messy surface that had been cleared of paint tubes and brushes. I soon discovered that the lights hadn't just been smashed - the bulbs had been removed entirely. That suggested planning and control, neither of which Jace would have had. 

But the courtyard had only showed one set of footprints. How had Valentine's murderer left the room after placing the knife in Jace's hand? 

I moved to checked the windows - it was obvious on first sight that they hadn't been opened in a long time, perhaps as long as the house had been built. There was a thick layer of dust on the window sills, undisturbed. I tried to open one anyway - the locks were stiff, and hinges even more so. 

If there was no way for the murderer to have left the room, then there was only one possible conclusion: the murderer had still been in the room when we had rushed in to check on Jace. Whoever it was must have known about Jace's frequent blackouts, and used that to their advantage to set him up - sneaking up on him and knocking him out with ether, then placing the knife in his hand. The lights had been removed so we wouldn't be able to see the murderer hiding in the shadows of the room, and then the murderer had blended in with the crowd when the entire dinner party had tried to rush in to see what was going on. This narrowed down the suspects to, at the very least, the forty-odd guests and all the members of the household staff. 

"I need a guest list from last night, and a list of all the staff in this house," I told the redhead. 

"In Mr Morgenstern's office," she said, and indicated that I should follow her quietly.

His office was in the main building, just off the side of the main hall. It was comfortable, occupied mainly by a heavy old mahogany table that held some leather-bound ledgers, a mail tray, and quite a number of photo frames. I examined these while she shuffled through some papers. The mail tray, unfortunately, yielded nothing of interest. The photos were mainly of Valentine Morgenstern and Jace, ranging from when Jace was a boy. But one of the photos didn't fit with the rest - it was a small one, and it showed Mr Morgenstern with a red-haired lady and a chubby blond toddler who obviously wasn't Jace - a boy with two blue eyes. I slid the frame into my jacket pocket. 

"Here's a list of all the guests. As for the staff, there are only four of us. I'm actually Mr Morgenstern's personal assistant - I was only helping with serving the drinks because there were so many guests last night," the redhead explained. "There are two old ladies who do the cooking and cleaning, but they wouldn't hurt a fly. And then there's the butler, of course - his name is Hodge Starkweather." 

There was nothing left for me to do here. I thanked her and she walked me to the door. Before I left, I handed her one of my cards, with instructions to call if anything new came up. It was a simple card - it had my number, office address, and "A. Lightwood" on it, so I had figured it would be safe enough. But she took one look at it and gasped. 

"Lightwood?"

"That's my name," I agreed, ignoring her reaction. I couldn't get out of there fast enough.

 

When I got to my office, Magnus was already there waiting for me. I frowned and glanced at the clock - it wasn't even noon. I had not been expecting him this early, since Ragnor Fell's appointment with Jace had been at eleven. 

"Is everything alright?" I asked.

Magnus looked grave. "Do you want the good news first, or the bad news first?"

"The good, I suppose," I said wryly. "I like to have all my chips on the table so I get to see how much I stand to lose."

"Alright. The good news is, Ragnor managed to convince the cops that your brother needs a doctor, especially after the shock that he had last night. He will be escorted to the office of the best psychiatrist in the city this afternoon, and Dr Loss is a dear enough friend to be willing to risk her professional reputation for my sake. You have half an hour to speak to your brother."

"And the bad news?" 

"Your brother has confessed to the murder of Valentine Morgenstern. He will be moved to the Matteawan State Hospital for the Criminally Insane within the week."

 


	4. Chapter 4

  

I was grim-faced and tight-lipped all the way to Dr Loss' office, but Magnus understood. Thinking of the last time Magnus had been in my car made me think of the car chase, and being shot at - my eyes flickered to the rear view mirror. There was a mustard yellow coupé behind me. The driver was wearing dark glasses, and a truly ugly straw hat with a loud orange and yellow tropical print band. A dozen blocks later the coupé was still behind me, but when I pulled my sorry rust heap against the curbing to get to Dr Loss' office, the coupé sailed right on, and the driver didn't even turn my way. I shrugged and put it out of my mind.

Dr Loss' office had a lovely, bright waiting room, painted a calming sky blue. The windows were opened wide and the white curtains light and gauzy, which made the room seem breezy and comfortable despite the afternoon heat.

"Where's the cop who brought Jace here?" I asked Magnus.

"Ragnor took him out for a drink... or two," Magnus smirked.

A cheerful girl in pigtails buzzed us in to the inner office, painted in the same soothing shade, where Jace was already sitting with Dr Loss. Jace was obviously startled to have two people interrupting his session with his psychiatrist. His mismatched eyes widened, and he looked from me to Magnus in puzzlement. 

"Mr Bane? And um... Mr Trueblood? What are you doing here? I don't understand."

Magnus moved to greet Dr Loss warmly, embracing her and pecking her on the cheek. "Hello, Catarina. It was kind of you to let us speak to Jonathan."

Jace's confusion became panic. He jumped out of his chair and backed into a corner of the room, his back against a dangerously overflowing bookshelf. "Are you with the Mafia?" he asked a little wildly. 

"Mr Morgenstern, please. This is a safe space," Dr Loss said soothingly.

"The hell it is," Jace barked. "You just let two strangers walk in."

"Why would you think we're with the Mafia?" I frowned. "Has there been trouble before?"

"First Mr Fell turns up out of nowhere to represent me, then the coppers send me to the best psychiatrist in the city, and now two art dealers I'd only just met on the night I murdered my father get to stroll in here like they own the place. What am I supposed to think?" Jace shot back. "I know I'm going crazy, but this is..."

"You're _not_ going crazy," Dr Loss sighed. "There is a block in your mind. And it's not just from the physical trauma from your childhood accident."  

"We only want to help, Jonathan," Magnus said, trying to calm him down. "I was the one who hired Mr Fell on your behalf."

"Why would you do that for me? I don't know you at all."

Magnus looked at me. The ball was in my court.

"How much do you remember of last night?" I asked Jace. 

He hesitated. "I've already told the coppers everything I can remember. I've confessed to the murder."

"Yes, we are aware of that," I huffed impatiently. I had forgotten how obstinate Jace could get, even when we were children.

"Why does an art dealer need to know this?" he asked suspiciously.

I took a deep breath. "Perhaps I should introduce myself properly, all over again. My name is Alec Lightwood, and I am a private detective." As I had expected, hearing my real name went through him like a shock to the system.

"I thought I was dreaming," he whispered. "How did this happen?"

"That's what we're trying to find out, Mr Morgenstern," Dr Loss said briskly. 

"Perhaps I should go," Magnus said. "This is private family business, after all. I'll be back when the hour is up, for Alexander." 

Jace frowned. "I thought... I could have sworn you hated people calling you 'Alexander'. Or did I remember that wrong?"

Magnus' eyes twinkled and he winked at me before he left the room. Jace's eyebrows rose.

 

 

"Now, Mr Morgenstern - perhaps if you could fill us in on what you do remember, from when you were a boy."

"There isn't much to tell. I remember being in hospital, and father telling me I was his miracle boy," Jace swallowed thickly, and sat down heavily on the chair he had vacated so abruptly just minutes before. "And then the nightmares started, and blackouts and seizures. Father brought me to a doctor, who said it was traumatic stress from the accident. He said trying to draw the images from my dreams might help make them go away, so I did. I didn't expect to make a career out of it. The rest, I'm sure you know."

"What triggers the blackouts? she asked. "Do they happen because of anything you've noticed?"

"They tend to happen at night, when I'm trying to fall asleep," Jace said. "But some times an open flame will do it too - a match, or a candle. That's why there are no fireplaces in the house." 

"Is this common knowledge?" I asked. Jace shook his head. 

"The secrets of who you are, of what really happened, are all buried in your brain," Dr Loss said, settling herself comfortably in her chair. She indicated that I should take a seat on another chair, so I sat down and dropped my hat on the armrest. She continued: "But we human beings often don't want to know the truth about ourselves because we think it will make us weak, and sick - so we make ourselves sicker, trying to forget. Dreams tell you what you are trying to hide from yourself, but they tell it to you all mixed up, like pieces of a puzzle that don't fit. My job is to take those pieces, and fit them together to find out what you are trying to say to yourself."

Jace looked skeptical, and a little apprehensive. "I've heard that you are the best psychiatrist in New York, Dr Loss, but all that dream analysis and Freud sounds like a bunch of hooey." 

Dr Loss raised an eyebrow at him. "You'll grant me I know more than you, but on the other hand, you know more than me? You have a guilt complex and amnesia and you don't know if you're coming or going from somewhere, but you think Freud is hooey!" 

"Dr Loss is trying to help you, Jace. Please don't fight her," I sighed. Of all the times to develop an attitude! At the use of his childhood nickname, Jace seemed to lose a bit of his bravado. 

"Mr Morgenstern - as your doctor, I need you trust me, lean on me." 

"Alright, go ahead, I'm leaning," Jace said, sinking back into the chair and trying to get comfortable. He closed his eyes.

"Tell me what you're thinking - the first thing that pops into your head."

"I'm not thinking of anything. Or I'm thinking of too many things. I don't know."

"Then tell me what you usually dream about." 

"I'm alone in a playground, spinning on the merry-go-round. It's dark, and there is a monster coming at me. A wooden toy soldier marches in and stands in front of me, but the monster blows out a stream of fire, and everything is burning and the ground is shaking. I call out some names - Alec, Izzy and Max - but nobody ever comes to save me. The monster whips out a tail and stings me on the back of my neck. That's all there usually is to it."

"Alright. And Mr Lightwood - I understand from Magnus that you believe Mr Morgenstern is your brother, suffering from amnesia." Jace's gaze flickered to me at that. Dr Loss continued: "If you could be so kind as to relate the events that led up to your meeting Mr Morgenstern again, please."

I recounted the events as briskly as I could. Jace seemed to grow paler as I spoke. 

"A fire," Jace whispered. "Max. Is he... did he...?" 

"He died in the fire," I replied. 

Jace nodded absently, staring into the distance. "I thought I'd dreamed that."

"It all sounds pretty obvious, really, after Mr Lightwood's side of the story," Dr Loss said contemplatively. "The toy soldier must be Max - you think that you caused his death somehow. Maybe you heard news of the fire and registered it in your subconscious, or he got in the way of your kidnapper. And the monster must of course be the person who kidnapped you, and started the fire in the process - by accident or not."

"What does the monster look like?" I asked. 

"It changes," Jace said. "Some times it doesn't even look human, but some times it can... shift its shape. It can take on the faces of people that I know." 

"And what face does it most commonly take?" Dr Loss asked gently.

"My father. Or I suppose I should be calling him something else now, shouldn't I?" Jace huffed with a bitter smile. He took a deep breath. "That's why I confessed to his murder, you see. Because some times when the monster wears his face, in the dream I kill it."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, you didn't murder Valentine Morgenstern," I told him. "I had a chance to go back to look at the studio this morning. The real murderer knocked you out and hid in the room until he or she had a chance to blend in with the crowd." 

"Are you sure?" Jace said, sitting up so fast he almost jumped out of his chair. 

"I'm going to do everything I can to clear your name, Jace," I promised him. "But I need your help. You can start by telling me more about the household staff and the people who were invited to the party."

"I didn't have anything to do with the invitations last night. My fa- Valentine handled all my business for me. As for the staff, I swear Clary Fray is innocent."

"Yes, I know you are seeing her - she was the one who let me in to the house this morning," I said, and tried not to roll my eyes at his smitten expression. "How about Hodge Starkweather?"

Jace frowned. "Starkweather is new. Our old butler retired a few months ago. Starkweather was an old friend of Valentine's. To be honest, he doesn't fulfill his duties very well, and he's always smoking these odd cigarettes that make me feel lightheaded when I walk past." 

Marijuana cigarettes. That was interesting. I wondered if that was how Meliorn had managed to get an invitation to the dinner party.

"Can you think of anybody who was at the party last night who might want Valentine Morgenstern dead? Someone who might want to hang the blame on you?"

Jace shook his head in bewilderment. "He had odd ideas, but he was well-liked enough, I think."

"Well, Mr Morgenstern's time with me is almost up. I suggest you make yourself scarce before the cop comes back, Mr Lightwood," Dr Loss said. 

There was a knock on the door, and Magnus swept into the room in a swirl of black silk, right on schedule. 

"Catarina, let us give them some time alone to talk, before Alexander has to leave," he suggested. He ushered her out to the waiting room. 

We stared each other. We were brothers, but the years apart had changed us, even without the pesky problem of his inability to recall our childhood together. Jace had been adopted, so there wasn't even a blood bond between us. He could have been a stranger.

"How's Izzy?"

"Well enough, I suppose. We aren't really on speaking terms."

He nodded, frowning. We lapsed back into an awkward silence. 

"How well do you know Mr Bane?" Jace finally asked.  

"What are you trying to ask, exactly?" I frowned. 

"You trust him?"

"I do," I said simply. 

"Then that is good enough for me." He hesitated. "Alec, I'm not judging. I don't know you very well, not when we've both grown into men apart from each other. But even I can tell that Mr Bane means something to you, something special." 

"He is. But that doesn't mean he feels the same way."

"Alec - he hired a rather famous lawyer for me. He got the best doctor for me. He went to all this trouble so we could meet. And he did all that for you - because I'm your brother," Jace laughed softly. "You'd have to be blind not to see that you mean something special to him too." 

I couldn't help giving him a small smile. "I should very much like to get to know the man you have become." 

"As would I," Jace agreed, and impulsively pulled me into a hug.  

"I'll get you out of this, Jace." I had already lost my brother for eleven years. I wasn't going to lose him again to a trumped up murder charge. 

 

 

I went home alone to a shower, comfortable clothes and a late dinner. The heat from the afternoon lingered on after the sun had set. I sat around the apartment puzzling over the whole case. Magnus had taken some time to help me go through the guest list from the dinner party, and had been able to vouch for most of them as established businessmen and artists, with no real history with the Morgensterns as far as business went. The only person Magnus didn't know was Meliorn Whitewillow, but I knew where I was on that score. Jace had been a new talent, and the dinner party had been Valentine's first attempt to showcase Jace's work. As for their personal history, I would have to do it the old-fashioned way, and call on them all tomorrow.  

It was a tall order, but I would have to get through the list by then - Jace's time was running out. I had heard enough sordid tales of what went on in asylums - sedatives and narcotics, electroshock therapy, lobotomies, and that was just from the medical staff. The Matteawan State Hospital for the Criminally Insane had a particular reputation - the inmates were killers, torturers, madmen without a hope for redemption. I wasn't sure there'd be anything left of Jace if he went in there. 

But something nagged at me - Jace's condition wasn't common knowledge. That pointed at someone in the household, someone who knew enough about it to use it to their advantage. Perhaps I should investigate Hodge Starkweather first. 

Then the phone rang. I frowned. I could count on one hand the number of people in this town who knew this number. I let it ring out. The phone rang back in five minutes - not a wrong number then, and someone was eager to get hold of me. I picked it up.

"Mr Lightwood. Maybe you know me," the voice on the other side of the phone said. "I'm Hodge Starkweather."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware that the psychiatric treatment in this chapter sounds like a load of crap, but bear in mind that in the 1940s/1950s, the study of psychology was still in its infancy. I've elected to keep to that since this is a pastiche of the works of that era. In other words, it's meant to be cheesy and bad - so please take with a healthy pinch of salt! (But not too big a pinch either - gotta watch that blood pressure, you know.)


	5. Chapter 5

  

 

"How did you get this number?" I asked Starkweather. 

"It's in the directory, ain't?" he asked. "You think you're the only one around here who can do a bit of detective work?" 

It was in the directory, but it was under Izzy's name. I let it slide.

"What can I do for you, Mr Starkweather?"

"I heard you talking to that girl, Fray. You're trying to clear Jonathan Morgenstern's name, aren't you? I've got something to sell - cheap, just a couple of C notes. I gotta get out of town real quick."

I took a shot in the dark. "If you're about to tell me that the real Jonathan Morgenstern is dead, I already know that. Died as a boy with his mom, didn't he?"

There was a shocked inhale from Starkweather. "How'd you know that?"

"I'm a detective, Mr Starkweather. It's my job to find out things. That kind of information isn't worth two hundred bucks. Besides, you've gotten plenty more than that by blackmailing Valentine Morgenstern. Even got yourself a job out of it." 

"Would you give the two hundred to know who else knows?" the man asked. 

"Are you saying you know who murdered Valentine Morgenstern?"

"That's what the two hundred bucks pays for. Tell you what - make it five and I'll give you the proof too."

This sounded way too easy. Starkweather must have thought I was a sucker. I said: "For that, you'll get the five hundred. But I have to get the money myself first."

"You do that. I'll see you at four at the Hampton Motel." The line went dead.

 

 

The next morning, I decided that I would get a start on interviewing the people on the guest list before my appointment with Hodge Starkweather. I was done with the fifth person on the list, sitting at a traffic stop on the way to the sixth, when I noticed the mustard yellow coupé. It was a big city, but even then there were always coincidences.

It felt a lot less like a coincidence when the same car popped up when I was on the tenth person on my list. I narrowed my eyes. It was definitely the same one, with the driver in the dark glasses and ugly hat. I circled a few blocks - the coupé held its position; just near enough for me to see the driver, but not within shooting distance. I stopped at a little cafe for a sandwich I didn't really need. It was still too early for the lunch crowd, so the place was mostly empty. After a while, a young man wearing an ugly straw hat walked in. He had dark hair, and was very pale. He was wearing an ill-fitting suit so cheap it made my cheap suit look like I'd gotten it off one of those high-street designer shops. He looked like he should be in school, not following a private detective around town. My mysterious tail posted himself at the end of the counter and drank a coca cola and looked bored. He had his dark glasses on, even indoors. Apparently that made him invisible.

I got up and wandered over and dropped into the chair beside him. I looked at him sideways. He didn't move. Maybe he thought that if he kept very still, I wouldn't be able to see him. 

"Can I help you with something?" I asked him. 

"Huh? No, what?" he startled. 

"You sure? Because you've been following me around for two hours now, since Second Avenue."

He deflated. "I'm that lousy, huh?"

"Yeap."

"Was it the hat? It was the hat, wasn't it?"

"The hat helped."

He looked around at the empty cafe, took out his wallet, and handed me a card - freshly printed. It had an address on it, a residential address from the looks of it, a phone number, and "Simon Lewis, Private Investigator". 

"So you were following me around just to give me a card?"

"No, I was following you around because- Um. Well..." he turned a deep shade of pink.  

I couldn't think of anybody who might have a reason to get a private eye on my tail, especially not one this bad at his job. 

"Well, knock it off, alright? I don't have time to play tag with you."

"I'm not _playing_. Look, we're on the same case, alright?"

"Really? And what case would that be?" 

"You're trying to clear Jonathan Morgenstern's name, right?"

I frowned, then sighed. "Please don't tell me Clary Fray hired you to follow me around."

"How did you figure that?" he gasped. 

I had only known Clary Fray for two days, and she was already more trouble than she was worth. 

"Why does Miss Fray think she needs someone to tail me?"

"She's heard Jonathan say your name before, when he was having one of his seizures, and she just thought it was odd that you'd turn up out of the blue just before this whole incident. It's not that she doesn't trust you - well, alright, she doesn't. But she's worried, and Clary is my best friend, and she's serious about Jonathan-"

I held up a hand to stop him. I don't think I'd ever met someone who talked this much. 

"Tell Miss Fray to meet me at my office at one tomorrow. I'll spare her a bit of time to set her mind at ease. I'm afraid that's the best I can do."

"I'll be there on her behalf. She doesn't want people to know that she knows you, see?"

I shrugged. Didn't make a difference to me. He waved at me as I left, as if we were friends. 

 

 

I made good time with the guest list after that, and was left with the last few names by the time 4 o'clock rolled around. 

Hampton Motel was in the seedy side of town - cheap motels and rundown housing mostly occupied with the kind of tenants who came in at odd hours and some times skipped town without paying their rents, and little shops with dusty window displays and shifty proprietors who weren't necessarily selling what they said they were. Flies danced in the afternoon heat above the row of garbage pails in the alley behind the motel. The lobby of the hotel had a sad collection of dying plants and a couple of couches that would probably give you something if you sat on them. The clerk at the counter gave me a nasty look when I went up to the counter asking for Starkweather. I was suddenly aware of how this looked - I was meeting a man in the kind of cheap motel where everybody who checked in on the register were either named Smith or Jones. I made it a point to give my proper name, and look the clerk in the eye while doing so.

I rode the automatic elevator up. Starkweather had taken a room on the fifth floor - I assume that meant that he had left the employment of the Morgensterns, and was looking to line his pockets before he blew this town. The elevator moved at a glacial pace, crawling up the floors like a dying creature. I was regretting not taking the stairs when I heard it - the unmistakable sound of a gun going off. There were two shots fired. I was still stuck in between the third floor and the fourth floor. I tried not to fidget impatiently while the elevator dragged itself up, and was out of the door before it was fully open. 

I walked down the brown carpet that lined the hallway. The door to room 504 - Starkweather's room - was ajar. I wished I had thought to bring my gun. 

I pushed open the door a little more. It opened up to a square room - more brown carpet, brown bed with brown sheets, brown night table, brown wardrobe, brown curtains. The inside of the room smelled like a reefer party and gunpowder. There was a door to the left that probably led to the bathroom. It was also hanging ajar, so I gave it a push - it gave a few inches, then stuck. I tried again, but it pushed back, as if someone was behind the door holding it against me. The opening would be just enough for me to stick my head in.

The smell hit me before I saw anything, a metallic tang mixed with the harsh bitter smell of gunpowder. The floor of the bathroom was too short for him, so his knees were bent and hung outwards slackly, blocking the door. His blond head was pressed tight against the tiled wall at a strange angle, and his right hand was thrown across his stomach, his left hand lay on the floor, palm up, the fingers curled a little. His open mouth was full of shiny crimson blood and there were two holes in his shirt. I didn't even need to touch him to know that he would still be warm.

Behind me, I heard the pattering of footsteps - the front desk clerk had heard the shots too. 

"I think we ought to have some law in here," I told him gravely.

"Already called the coppers," he answered me breathlessly. "What the hell is going on in there?"

"Best not to look, if you have a weak stomach," I told him, and took a look around the rest of the room.

There was a notepad on the night table with my personal number scrawled on it. The drawers were empty except for the standard copy of the King James bible. Starkweather's luggage was sitting in the wardrobe, half opened and spilling its contents everywhere, but in a way that suggested sloppy packing habits rather than that it had been ransacked. Whatever proof Starkweather had claimed to have had against the murderer, the murderer hadn't bothered trying to look for it - so either he didn't know about it, or Starkweather had been bluffing. I was inclined to think that he'd been bluffing - if the murderer had known where to find him and had gone to all this trouble to shut him up, wouldn't he have known if Starkweather had something solid against him? 

The cops took fifteen minutes to arrive, which wasn't bad time for a lazy Tuesday afternoon. I soon figured out why though - the leading officer was Pangborn. The clerk must have mentioned my name when he called in. He sauntered in like Christmas had come early.

"Lightwood. Second time in a month we've found you at the scene of a murder where the murderer has conveniently disappeared. What are the chances?"

"If I had done the deed, I'd hardly be stupid enough to hang around after, would I?" I asked testily. "I don't have a gun on me now, and I'm willing to bet that you'll find the bullets don't match the ones from mine."

"I don't know, Lightwood. Seems to me like bad business, very bad business. Can't have an ex-copper running around playing vigilante killer, can we?"

"Go ahead and trace my gun. I'll be in town. You know where to find me."

"Not so fast, Lightwood. What I want to know is - how did you know the dead guy?"

I gritted my teeth. "He was a butler for the Morgensterns."

"The Morgensterns? Am I hearing you right? The one where you were _also_ there when a stiff turned up?" Pangborn sneered. "Firstly - I thought I told you to keep your nose out of that business. Secondly - I'm sure you can see how this looks."

"Last I checked, it's a free country. People can hire a private investigator if they think the police ain't doing their job, you don't get a say in that. And what this looks like is a private detective checking up on a lead and finding out that the lead has been iced."

"That's your story."

"It's a good story - because it's true."

"Well, Lightwood, I know you've got friends in high places these days. I'm sure it won't hurt you none to spend the night in the can," he smiled nastily. "You're under arrest for the murder of Hodge Starkweather."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A "reefer" is old slang for a marijuana cigarette.


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

The cells in the New York police precinct were cold in the night, but bearable with my coat on. I assumed Jace was somewhere around, because Ragnor was well-informed and would have known if he had already been transferred to the asylum. Of course Pangborn wouldn't have been nice enough to put me anywhere near him. Instead, even though the cells around were all empty, Pangborn had taken the trouble to put me next to a cell that held a drunk who kept trying to yodel while he waited to go downtown for sunrise court. I couldn't sleep, but that was neither here nor there - I barely slept in my own bed, so I could hardly fault the bed in the cell, even if was little more than a thick blanket wrapped around a plank of wood.

Besides, I had plenty of thoughts to keep me company. I wasn't done with the dinner guest list, but I had a feeling nothing was going to turn up from there - Starkweather had been the lead I was looking for, but now he was dead. I wondered how the murderer had known where to find Starkweather. But most of all, I wondered why Starkweather had mentioned the real Jonathan Morgenstern. Valentine must have kidnapped Jace in a fit of insanity as a replacement for his own son; but it seemed like the only people who might be upset enough by that to want to kill Valentine for it should be the Lightwoods, but both my parents were dead, and Izzy wouldn't hurt a fly. 

The drunk in the cell next door tried to sing, some popular jazzy piece that had been on the radio a lot lately, but his voice cracked and that discouraged him, and he began to cry. In the new quiet, I thought I heard muffled screaming, the way someone might sound if they were screaming into a pillow or blanket.

 

 

Pangborn took his time with the paperwork the next morning. By the time I'd signed on the papers granting me bail, Magnus looked like he might put a couple of slugs in Pangborn himself.

"Let me get my chauffeur to drive you home, Alexander. You look exhausted."

"I'll get a taxi," I insisted.

I had also had a lot of time to think about what Jace had said about Magnus going out of his way for me. I hadn't even had to think twice before dialling Magnus with my one phone call when Pangborn had slapped me with a murder charge. A couple of years ago, the only person I would have called was Izzy, then after that there had been no one I had trusted enough to call. I didn't want Magnus to think that I was turning to him only because he was rich and had connections in the city - and recently all our interactions seemed to be me calling him for one favour after another.

I had promised to give him time, after our previous parting. Instead, I'd barged into his life bringing murder and mayhem with me. 

"Stop being so stubborn, Alexander."

"Magnus, you've done plenty already-"

"Are you keeping the score? Because I'm not," he said gently, cutting me off. 

I didn't know what to say to that. Me and Izzy, we'd been used to playing it alone for years now. When she'd left to get married, it had thrown me off my game for a bit, but I'd gotten back on track, more or less. I wasn't used to people swooping in like a knight on shining armour on my behalf, least of all without wanting something in return.

"Just get in the car, Alexander," he said, with laughter in his voice.

I surrendered and got in his car. I didn't have mine, anyway - it was still back at Hampton Motel - and it was close enough to the lunch hour that it would be hard to catch a taxi. At least, that's what I told myself.

"Why are you doing all this for me, Magnus?" I finally asked.

"Must be something in the air," Magnus shrugged, with a twinkle in his eyes. I tried not to read too much into that.

 

 

I was halfway through my apartment door before I remembered my appointment with Simon Lewis. I glanced at the clock - it was already a quarter to one. After the business with Starkweather, I thought it might be a good idea to bring my gun even if Lewis looked like he couldn't knock over a flower vase and would probably shoot himself in the foot if he ever had to hold a gun. I was back out of the door and in the front lobby of my apartment again in ten minutes.

I had been planning to get a taxi. I hadn't expected to see Magnus standing in my front lobby, his car idling outside on the curb.

"I had a hunch," Magnus said with a self-satisfied smirk. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought he was enjoying this detective business far too much.

I went up to my office alone. I'd even managed to convince Magnus that I would go straight back home after meeting Lewis, so he wouldn't make his chauffeur wait. There was nothing waiting for me in my reception room except the odour of cheap cigarettes, which made me annoyed until I noticed the pair of dark glasses abandoned on the arm of the faded green settee. I picked it up and frowned. Lewis had been here, but something or someone had made him leave in a hurry, and I had only been ten minutes late. At least there was no blood or body to be seen.

I looked around - nothing out of place or missing, as far as I could tell. I went to unlock the door to my office, and nearly stepped on a piece of thin notepaper, folded in half. I picked it up with my free hand and opened it - I recognised Izzy's handwriting immediately. In her looping, messy scribble, she'd written: "I'm going to make him pay. We'll get Jace out of this, big brother."

My blood ran cold. Make _who_ pay? How had my sister solved the case within half an hour of being in my reception room, and why in hell had she decided to confront the murderer on her own? My gaze lighted on the pair of dark glasses that I was practically crushing in my hand. Oh, no. She wasn't alone, and that was an even bigger problem.

_Think_. How did Izzy know who it was?

She hadn't known about Jace until today - I hadn't wanted to tell her until I was sure of Jace's fate one way or another, but she must have found out from something Lewis had said, and I'm sure he had said plenty. Izzy hadn't come here on a social call. Something must have happened between her and Meliorn again. 

_Meliorn._

"Damn it," I muttered as I sprinted out of my office, not even bothering to lock the door behind me.

How had I not seen it before?Hodge Starkweather had a marijuana habit, and Meliorn grew pots of the stuff in the fire stairs behind his apartment. It would have been easy enough for Starkweather to let something slip when he was under the influence. Meliorn's sister had died in the fire - a fire that wouldn't have happened if Valentine hadn't tried to kidnap Jace. I wouldn't have thought he would have the brains to come up with the elaborate murder plot that had set Jace up, but people had surprised me before. 

I supposed I should be thankful that despite our short acquaintance Magnus already knew me all too well, and could be as stubborn as I was - his cream Cadillac was stopped against the curbing, his chauffeur nowhere in sight. Magnus himself was leaning against the hood of the car with a cigar held between his slim fingers, looking for all the world like he had just stepped out of the silver screen. He took one look at the expression on my face and tossed the cigar away. 

"Tell me in the car," he said. 

"I can't let you come along, Magnus. It could be dangerous." 

"I can take care of myself, Alexander," he scoffed.

"I can't do my job if I'm worrying about you." 

Magnus took a deep breath. "I realise your job comes with certain risks, but you cannot expect me to sit at home and wait while you go after a murderer on your own."

His eyes met mine, and in that moment all I could think about was that he was an extraordinarily beautiful man, both inside and out.  

I got in on the driver's side of the car. "Magnus, please promise me you'll stay in the car."

"I never make promises I can't keep, Alexander."

I sighed. There was no use arguing if he was in a stubborn mood, and it took one to know one. I got the car in gear. 

 

 

It was ten to two when I pulled up outside Izzy's apartment block. I had never visited, but I some times I would drive by and wonder which window was hers. The mustard-yellow coupé parked crookedly about two feet from the curb told me I was on the right track.

I looked at Magnus, trying to find the right words that would convince him to stay out of harm's way. I had to get in there - Izzy was in serious danger. I wouldn't trust Meliorn not to hurt her, even if she was his wife. I couldn't be sitting here stumbling over what to say to the man who had come to mean too much to me too quickly. Something in my panicked expression finally made him give in.

"I'm coming in after you if you're not out within half an hour," he warned.

I nodded. Meliorn would have been spooked by now, if Izzy had barged in with that bumbling rookie detective. But he was a small man, and I was confident that I would be able to subdue him easily. I took the fire stairs two steps at a time, then crept down the green-carpeted hallway as silently as I could. 

Izzy lived with Meliorn at 502. I put my ear to the door, to listen for any activity inside the apartment. It was suspiciously quiet, and my worry for Izzy sky-rocketed. I tried the door cautiously - it was locked. But it was an old door, which would have fitted many years ago but which had shrunken over the years and now moved a little loosely in the frame. I took my wallet out and slipped the thick hard window of celluloid from over my driver's license; it was funny how easily something so innocuous could become a burglar's tool in the right - or wrong - hands. I leaned gently against the door and pushed the knob hard away from the frame. I pushed the celluloid plate into the widened crack and felt for the slope of the spring lock. There was a dry, sharp click - the sound seemed to echo in the quiet hallway. I hung there motionless, suspended in the tension of the moment. When nothing happened inside the apartment, I turned the knob and pushed the door open.

It opened up to a neat little living room with well-worn, solid furniture but not much of it. There were forest-green plush curtains drawn across the windows on a thin brass rod below the lintel, tastefully done to match the wallpaper and carpet, and there I saw Izzy's touch. She had always been talented at making the most out of very little. I didn't see any signs of a struggle. 

There were two doors in the west wall, both closed, and a small kitchenette to the east of the living room. A quick look around the kitchenette assured me that it was empty. I opted to explore the door further from the entrance door.

This door was not locked. The lights in the room were not on, and the windows were drawn, but there was still enough light to see by. Lewis was lying on the floor, trussed up with rope like a turkey ready for the oven, and he was out cold, with a bruise forming steadily on his forehead. Izzy was on the bed, unbound, but she too had her eyes closed. I rushed towards her and checked her pulse - there it was, steady beneath my fingers. I shook her gently, but she did not wake. There were no visible injuries on her, so Meliorn had probably knocked her out with ether, like he had with Jace, then overpowered Lewis.

I got up the check the other room, but I didn't even get a chance to get on my feet, because at that moment something hit me square on the back of my brain. I had a stunned moment of shock when the lights danced and the world went out of focus but was still there. He must have hit me again - then there was nothing but darkness and emptiness and a great rushing sound in my ears, like wind.


	7. Chapter 7

  

The first sensation I had when I came to was that my head was coming apart. It seemed too big and too small at the same time, and I felt like someone was hammering nails into my temples. There was an insistent throbbing at the back of my head. The second sensation I recognised was that there was an annoying rattling thumping sound, and the room was too dark and it was shaking.

"Hey, man, are you dead? Please don't be dead," a voice to my left said, a male voice I didn't quite recognise. 

I reached for the gun under my arm by instinct, but found that my wrists were tied. It didn't matter anyway - now that I was aware of it, the comforting weight of my revolver was gone. Meliorn must have taken it. My ankles were bound as well, but with a bit of slack in the rope so I could probably shuffle around. 

"Oh good, you're not dead! But please don't shoot me."

"Who are you? Where's Izzy?" I croaked out, my voice sounding strange and slurred to my own ears.

"Lewis. Um, Simon Lewis. I gave you my card in the cafe, remember?" he asked hopefully. "I think Mr Whitewillow has your sister with him at the front. We're in the back of a truck. Your sister said Mr Whitewillow took a new job recently, and that's his job - driving the truck. He's driving it now. I mean, in case it wasn't already obvious, which I'm sure it is, to you."

The third sensation, I decided, was that if Lewis didn't shut the hell up, I might punch him.

I tried to open my eyes. Perhaps I was lucky it was dark. I felt like I was hungover, without the benefit of having forgotten my sorrows the night before. I wondered if that bastard Meliorn had fractured my skull - the pain in my head seemed to be growing. 

"Any idea where he's taking us?" 

In the dim light I thought I saw Lewis shake his head. I tried to sit up, but it was too much effort. I can't remember what happened after that, I might have passed out again. But when I was awake again, I was aware that the truck had stopped. The door to the back of the truck opened, flooding the space with light and making me squint.

"Get out, and get in there. You - help him up," I heard Meliorn bark out.

Lewis tried his best, but his wrists and ankles were tied up too. I ended up propping myself up on my elbows and sort of rolling out, stumbling a little when my feet hit the ground. I wobbled a little, but didn't fall over, so there was that at least. My vision was still blurry and my mind still fuzzy, but I soon figured where we were - Red Hook Dock. It had been a bustling place, before the War, but most of the warehouses here had been abandoned when the shipping industry had moved on to New Jersey. This was the legendary Al Capone's neighbourhood - mobster territory. Gunfire in the afternoon was as common as jazz on the radio, and three extra dead bodies wouldn't raise an eyebrow. 

Meliorn had parked the truck in a back alley near a red-bricked warehouse. The windows had been boarded over. He was gesturing to an open door that led into the shadowy, cavernous space with one hand that held a .32 Colt automatic. He had Izzy held in a headlock with his other hand, and his threat was clear: get in, or he'd shoot her. 

The warehouse had probably been used to store grain and hay at some point - there was that dry smell of old grass to it and piles of rotted burlap bags still propped up against the walls. There probably wasn't any electricity for the lights to be working, but there were a few narrow windows high up near the roof that hadn't been boarded up, letting in some light. The wooden rafters crisscrossed above our heads, throwing stark shadows against the wooden floor boards. Rickety wooden steps led up to a second-floor gallery.  

"I've seen this in the movies. This is the part where the detective confronts the murderer, and the murderer pulls a gun on the detective and tells us the whole story, but just before he gets around to shooting the detective, something happens to prevent it, right?" Lewis whispered nervously.

I didn't even have the energy to tell him to shut up. 

Meliorn came in after us with the gun held to Izzy's head. He didn't bother closing the door. He seemed to find what Lewis had said amusing.  

"You have a point there. Suppose we make it a little different, this time - I don't tell you anything, and nobody comes to save you."

"You do realise that these aren't the actions of an innocent man," I told Meliorn. "You've given the game away." I would have been angry, but my brain was too fuzzy for me to be angry, so I just sounded tired. 

"And who do you think you're going to have the chance to tell, Lightwood?" Meliorn sneered. "Here's how it's going to go: I'm going to give a gun to - Lewis, was it? And Lewis is going to shoot you in the heart, and you're going to let him. If there's any funny business from either of you, the lovely Isabelle will pay the price." 

"No, no, I'm not good with guns, I've never fired one in my life," Lewis stammered, looking horrified.  

"And what will you do to us after that?" Izzy asked. "You're not going to let us go."

"Oh, but I am," Meliorn replied. "He's not going to blab to the coppers - he'll be a murderer. And as for you... well, it all depends on how you behave."

"If you think I'm going to stand here and watch you murder my brother, you are out of your damned mind," she hissed, straining against his hold.

"You're not going to have a choice - just like I didn't have a choice when Kaelie was murdered," Meliorn snarled. 

"Max died in that fire too, remember?" Izzy said furiously. "Why are you doing this?" 

"All of you Lightwoods deserve to die," Meliorn barked out. "My sister died because of Jace - some stupid orphan your parents picked up off the streets, and look at what that did to us all? Now come over here and take the gun, before I put a slug in her brain!"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow slip in through the open door and disappear into the deep shadows of the warehouse, his black peacoat blending seamlessly with the darkness.

"I'm going to miss!" Lewis protested.

"He's not going to run, he can barely stand on his own two feet," Meliorn scoffed. 

Then Magnus seemed to come out of nowhere, swinging a tire iron at Meliorn's right shoulder - the arm that was holding the gun. At the same time, I lurched forward and slammed bodily into Meliorn and Izzy, putting myself between the two of them. Meliorn yelled, and the gun went off, a wild shot, but a lucky shot - I felt the bullet go through my arm, a sharp flash of pain that left me feeling like my whole arm was on fire. 

"Alec!" Izzy cried out. There was another shout of pain from Meliorn as Magnus brought the tire iron down again.

"Magnus! We need him alive, so that we can clear Jace's name," I had the presence of mind to shout out.

"Don't worry, I've just knocked him out," Magnus said, already coming to my side. "I've already called that friend of yours, Detective Garroway."

Izzy had my head on her lap. I was probably bleeding all over her dress. But that was alright - my sister was alive, and I planned to keep it that way. It was all over. I slipped into the darkness again.

 

 

I woke up in a narrow iron hospital bed. The bullet had gone clean through my arm, so that was just torn flesh and a bit of blood. The fractured skull turned out to be a bigger problem, although the doctors said I was lucky I had a hard head and that it would heal up on its own in a few months. They wanted me to stay for a few days though, just to be sure. They kept me doped up on painkillers, in a private room Magnus had insisted on paying for. A clean room with green linoleum floors, plain white walls, my own private bathroom, and meals in bed three times a day. It was a swell room - to get out of. 

Izzy came to visit every day. She told me Jace had been released, but he was in a bad shape - the time in prison hadn't been good for his already fragile mind. They had both moved in to my apartment, so Izzy could take care of Jace while Ragnor helped Jace with sorting out the complicated matter of the Morgenstern inheritance. 

One day, she came in almost two hours later than usual - as it turned out, she had gone to visit Meliorn. 

"He's not worth your time, Izzy," I told her.  

"I know. I just wanted to know what he'd done with my money."

"What money?"

"That's why I went to your office that day," she said. "He came home one day with blood on his sleeves, and I knew something was wrong. That was when I realised that all our savings were gone, mine included."  

"What did you need the money for?" 

"I was going to leave him," Izzy whispered. "I wanted to make a life for myself."

"Could have come to me, Izzy." 

"I know. I've been so stupid, Alec."

"You're not stupid," I told her. "You worked it all out, didn't you? You figured out it was Meliorn even before I did."

"It was simple, once I figured out from Mr Lewis' description that Jonathan Morgenstern was Jace. I told you Meliorn had been acting strange, and I'd always had the feeling that he blamed us for the fire."  

"Then why did you marry him?" 

"I loved him, and I thought that love would be enough to change his mind. See, stupid - like I told you," she said with a sad little laugh. 

I patted her hand awkwardly. I would have hugged her, but I wasn't sure we were back to that point yet. "So did you find out what happened to the money?"

"It's all gone. Turns out, he didn't come up with his murderous plans all on his own. Well, the murder was his idea, but he hadn't known how to go about it at first."

I frowned. "Hodge Starkweather?" He hadn't really struck me as the brainy type either. 

"No. To be honest, Meliorn sounded half-mad. He said he had to pay the Princeling of Hell for his services."

I snorted. First Valentine Morgenstern with his talk of angels, and now Meliorn Whitewillow with his talk of devils. Maybe it was fitting. 

"The doctors said you can come home in a couple of days. You had me so worried, Alec." 

"It would take a better man than Meliorn Whitewillow to do me in. Although since we're on that matter, when I finally bite the dust, just get me a plain pine box, you hear?" I leaned back on the pillow. The room was starting to spin again. "Don't bother with bronze or silver handles. And don't scatter my ashes over the blue Pacific. I like the worms better."

Izzy frowned at me and slapped my wrist. "Don't joke about things like that." 

I hummed. The morphine made my head fuzzy, and I hated the feeling. "Wasn't joking about the worms. Did you know that worms are of both sexes and that any worm can love any other worm?" 

She looked at me quizzically. "Is this about Magnus?"  

I closed my eyes. My sister had always been able to read me too well. "I think I'll take a short nap. You don't mind, do you?"

I ended up staying eight days in the hospital. Magnus had paid for the fancy room, but he didn't come to visit, not once.


	8. Epilogue

 

I wasn't allowed to drive yet - doctor's orders - so I took a taxi from the hospital and stopped by my office on the way home. As it turned out, I could have saved myself the trouble of installing a lock on my office door - even with the door left wide open, nobody had bothered coming around to mess it up. Although, to be fair, there wasn't anything worth stealing anyway. Maybe it should make me rethink my career choices when even the bums that lurked in the building after dark turned their noses up at the way I lived.

I took a turn around the room and was about to leave for home when I spotted something under the usual advertisements in my mail slot. 

I fished it out of the mess - it was an envelope with no post mark, and no address. Not even my name on it. It was made from thick, heavy paper, the good stuff. I pressed it gently and carefully, and at first I thought someone had gone to a lot trouble to put an expensive, empty envelope in my mail slot as some sort of elaborate practical joke. Then I felt something small and hard in one corner. I got my letter opener and sliced the envelope open, then carefully tipped it out onto my desk - a small stone the size of a pea fell out and nearly bounced off my desk.

I had never seen a gemstone like that before. It was perfectly round and polished, its colour somewhere between a pale green and yellow. I thought it might be some sort of quartz, but it had a sharp milky ray of white light across its centre. It reminded me of a cat's eye. 

Why would someone send something like this to me? I had no idea if it was a valuable stone, or even if it had been sent to me by accident. 

I pocketed the stone. Maybe I should ask Magnus if he knew what it was - or maybe not. 

 

 

When I finally got home, I discovered that there were too many people in my apartment - two people more than I wanted or expected, to be exact.  

"Mr Lightwood," Lewis greeted me, standing up and knocking over his glass of water in the process. He looked like he was about to salute me.

The little redhead who had been holding Jace's hand before this, got up from the settee and stuck a hand out at me, all business-like. "I'm sorry I didn't trust you, before."

"That’s alright. It's a good habit to have, in this city."

"I would like for us to be friends," she said, and I couldn't say no, not with Jace looking at me so hopefully over her shoulder. I shook her hand briefly, and at least that was that matter settled. 

Lewis seemed to think this was the cue for him to approach me, and I resigned myself to the fact that I would have to make small talk with strangers in my own home. 

"I would like to apologise for my behaviour that day. You must think I'm some kind of coward, but I wouldn't have shot you, I swear," he said nervously.

"You don't even know how to use a gun, so you can't actually promise that," I said a little wryly. 

He flushed red up to his ears. He couldn't have been older than twenty-one, and he was looking younger by the minute. "I wanted to be a cop, but couldn't get in the academy. I figured going private was my best bet."

"Well, here's a tip - if you plan on staying in this business, at least learn how to shoot. And I don't mean how to fire a gun - you've got to be a passable shot, at least."

"Would you teach me?" he asked eagerly. "Mrs Whitewillow says you are a very accomplished marksman." 

"It's Miss Lightwood, now," Izzy corrected him gently. "Or you could just call me Isabelle."

"Right. Isabelle," he repeated, turning red. "Then call me Simon, please."

"I will," Izzy replied, amused.

"I'm afraid I'm not much of the teaching sort," I said. I might have sounded a little harsher than necessary. I knew Izzy was the kind of woman who could take care of herself, especially against the likes of him, but I had failed her with Meliorn and wasn't about to make the same mistake.

"Oh," Lewis said, sounding disappointed. "Maybe I should take up that six-month detective correspondence course I saw in my mail. For fifty cents extra they said I'd get a diploma too," he said.

"Maybe," I said non-committally. I didn't feel like mentioning that the diploma probably wouldn't be worth the cheap paper it would be printed on, and he'd probably receive it only if the postal inspectors didn't catch up with them first.   

"Alec! Don't encourage Simon, even _I_ know those mail order schools can't be trusted," Isabelle laughed. 

"Don't say that - you're incredibly intelligent, and kind, and- I shall definitely trust your judgement on that," Lewis finished awkwardly and practically fled back to the shelter of the company of his redheaded friend.  

My small, lonely apartment was overflowing with people, my family. I never thought I would have them again, Izzy and Jace by my side, just like old times. Except it wasn't like old times, because Jace was a broken shell of a man, and Izzy's heart had been shattered, and I was just so damned tired of wanting something I couldn't have. Perhaps I had gotten used to being alone for too long. There were too many people in the apartment, and I couldn't breathe. Izzy noticed at once, and drew me aside.

"They're good for Jace," she told me in an undertone. "Dr Loss said having familiar faces around would give him stability."

"I'm not complaining," I insisted. I could see that Jace was still as skittish as a cornered animal, but the hand of Miss Fray on his arm seemed to steady him a little. We watched them a while, Izzy and I. Jace smiled at something Lewis said, and turned to share the joke with his girl.

"Have you spoken to Magnus at all?" Izzy asked.

"He's a busy man," I shrugged.

"I know you're obnoxiously stubborn-"

"I hope you're going somewhere with this."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Izzy huffed. She grabbed my coat and hat and shoved them into my arms. "I think a bit of fresh air might do you some good," she said.

"I just got back. Are you running me out of my own home, Izzy?"  

She took hold of one of my hands. "Go," she urged me again with a smile, and kissed my cheek. 

 

 

The taxi took me right to the front of Magnus' townhouse. The lights upstairs were still on, so I rang the door bell.  

I had fully expected him to ignore the bell, and leave me standing there like the fool that I was, but after a few minutes he was standing right there in front of me. He was in a dressing gown, probably getting ready to turn in for the night.  

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise it was so late." 

"Not at all. It's never too late, for you. Come in."

I nodded dumbly and went through the motions of hanging up my coat and hat.  

"I'm glad to see you're feeling better," Magnus said. "Take a seat - I'll make you a drink." 

"I don't need a drink. Magnus, I just want to talk."

He hesitated, then nodded and gestured to the living room just beyond the foyer with the fireplace and the plush armchairs. "Take a seat, at least."

"Why didn't you come to see me? At the hospital?" I asked Magnus, and immediately regretted sounding like a petulant child.

He shrugged, the gesture overly casual. "You had only just found your brother and your sister again. I thought you would have wanted to spend more time with your family, so I left you alone," Magnus replied. He didn't meet my eyes.

"Is that really all there is to it?"

After a long silence, he sighed. "No. The truth is, when I saw you lying in your sister's arms, pale as death and bleeding everywhere, I realised how much I had come to care for you," he said, twisting one of his rings around his finger. "I don't do well with losing the people I care about, Alexander."

I ducked my head and swallowed. "I understand."

He had only known me for two months, and already we'd both been held at gunpoint and my brother-in-law had murdered two people and nearly killed me. Before now, I wouldn't have thought to call my life dangerous, and yet it was - there was always the chance of being stabbed, or shot. He thought I wasn't worth the risk. I felt ridiculous and stupid for coming in here like this.

"Goodbye, Magnus," I told him quietly, and turned to leave.

I collected my coat and hat, and was almost at the door when he called out: "Alexander, wait!"

My hand lingering on the handle of the door stilled. 

"It's quite remarkable to discover that one isn't who one thought one was. I had always thought of myself as a man who knew his own mind," he said quietly. 

I turned back around to face him. "And you're not, now?"

"I know it's foolish, and rash... but I can't help feeling what I feel for you, Alexander."

I took a few steps towards him and put my hat and coat down slowly, deliberately, trying to calm my racing heart, before meeting his eyes. "And what if I told you I know exactly how you feel?" I asked him.

"It's not supposed to happen like this, not so quickly. We barely know anything about each other," he whispered.

"No, it shouldn't," I agreed. "But it has."

"I suppose it happens in a moment, sometimes, like lightning striking; and when it does, nothing will stand in its way," Magnus murmured.

He took another step towards me, then another. I was like a man spellbound; the world could stop turning, and I wouldn't have been able to look away from those eyes, so full of tenderness. 

"You've unlocked something in me, Alexander."

He was standing right in front of me now. He placed one hand on my cheek, a thumb lingering on my cheekbone. And then slowly, and very carefully, he pressed his lips to mine. It was like hearing music for the first time after a lifetime of silence. It was like seeing colour for the first time after a lifetime of grey. 

We stood close to each other for a long time even after we'd stopped kissing, so close that I thought I could feel my soul melting into his. And in that moment, that one perfect crystalline moment, I closed my eyes and let myself believe.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments! As usual, I will be taking a little plotting/planning break, and I'll probably be starting the next installment in this series in probably a week or so. In the meantime, come say hi at my tumblr @la-muerta. 
> 
> Until next time! XOXO
> 
> **Update:** I've started on the next installment :)


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